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1. Chapter One - Avarage Day

To call Jennifer McIntyre a waste of space was underestimating. She was negative space - a tornado blowing everything into chaos if it came to close. She was now walking across the hallway, her long golden hair in a ponytail so tight it gave her an unneeded facelift. I glared at her, my hands turning into fists while picking up books in my locker. God, how I hated everything about that bitch, her stunning beauty accompanied with overdone make up, her whispered words into her best friend, Tiffany Dunwall's, ear about everyone and me, and most of all I hated her for Josh. Josh Grott was the love of my life, had been since second grade, and he was also none other than Jennifer's boyfriend. Even now at my senior year in high school I still had a huge crush on him. And Jennifer knew it
.
I was just about to close my locker when Jennifer and Tiffany walked over to me, with mean expressions on their faces. Well, they didn't exactly walk over to where I was, but to a spot two meters away from me, where I was sure to hear them.
"Oh my gosh! Tiff, did I tell you about yesterday night?" Jennifer said in her high pinched voice, way too loud for a conversation between only two people. "No, but I'm sure it's gonna be some, like, real juicy stuff!" Tiffany goshed in the same loud tone. I sighed - here we go... Jennifer really liked to tell Tiffany about whatever she and Josh had done the night before - in details - very close to wherever I was, in order to make me jealous. And sadly, it worked.
Suddenly a cold breeze hit me like projectile. Of course it wasn't sharp or hard or even that cold, just a bit chilly, but I've felt so many times now, that it sends shudders trough my body every time I feel it, because what it brings with it usually isn't very nice. Oh God, not now, please not now. But of course it was now, after the cold breeze, it always happened. I ran out to the toilet, hearing Jennifer say behind me: "God, Tiff. Look at that freak. Jealous much." But I just hurried into a booth and locked the door. The vision started:









I was walking quickly down the alley in my bare feet, plastic heels clapping against each other in my hand. I cast a quick look over my shoulder. There wasn't anyone there. My hand went up to the place under my bra were I hid the money. A thousand dollars were a lot for a person like me, so I had to hide it, and hide it well. I yanked my short skirt down a little, trying to cover up the hole in my last pair of fishnet-stockings, while reassuring myself that with these money I could buy as many fishnet-stockings as I wanted. Hell, I could just stop wearing them, and stop doing this awful, awful job and become an actress like I'd always wanted to. I shuddered a little in the cold breeze. Only a few blocks to go now and then I'd be at the guy, who could get me out of this hellhole,'s condo. All I had to do was give him five hundred bucks and he'd get me a decent acting job. I'd have five hundred to my self and everything would be good. All I had to do was get there. And I'd be one of LA's finest actresses.
A southern drawl behind me, made me jump. "Hey Sugar, where ya goin' so fast. Come back n' have some fun with me." I turned around slowly. All I had to, was say I wasn't interested and leave as fast as I could. "C'mon don't be scared. I ain't nothin' to be afraid of," I didn't even get a good look at him, before he'd pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at me, "unless, of course, you don't give the money you're hiding under your bra."
Then he pulled the trigger.











I shook my head hard to clear the vision out. I could still feel the girls terror, so pure and so sweet, and so... amazing - I shook my head again, harder this time. God, how I hated that. Not only did I have to see the last moments of everyone who died in a radius of three hundred meters, I had to be them, feel everything they felt, and worst of all, I loved every moment of it. It was like a high, sweeter than any drug one could imagine, only much, much more dangerous. And the guilt afterward? Yeah, that wasn't exactly nice either. Usually I could handle it, I saw old people die in their beds all the time, which was very peaceful and quiet, and even... nice. They always looked back at their lives, and thought about their loved ones, and usually ended up with something like I had a pretty damn good life, actually. But when I saw a murder, and spending most of my time in downtown LA, I did that a lot, that was just plain awful afterwards, no matter how sweet it was while watching it.

Some people would say that I should use my powers for good, and go to the police when I had a murder vision. But I can't exactly do that, can I? I mean, how would it look if walked over to the nearest police station, all hi, there's a girl who've been murdered about three blocks away. And the police would ask how I knew that, and I would say psychic visions. Great idea. So I sticked to what I always did: I toughed it out and hid it as well as I could.
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